Sorrow is dangerous.
But as she continued and finished her tale, I could tell that her heart was elsewhere, and when she excused herself to go to bed, she left without saying good night. After that, the princesses in her...
There is no utter truth or utter falsehood in this world. There is only mostly. Which part of the mostly you choose to accept, well, that much is up to you.
But as the years passed, Ned's silence grew and grew. It pressed upon his face and his body. It leaked into the house and spread outward into the yard. His silence had weight. It had substance and pre...
She is doing that on purpose, he thought as he tried to force his own smile away from his wide, damp jaws. She is being adorable as some sort of hideous ruse, to spite me. What a mean baby!...Do not f...
Not every story is true. And sometimes the things that were wicked become the things that save us, and the things that were good doom us to misery and pain.
Memory was a slippery thing—slick moss on an unstable slope—and it was ever so easy to lose one’s footing and fall
There's no such thing as complete when it comes to stories. Stories are infinite. They are as infinite as worlds.
Everything you see is in the process of making or unmaking or dying or living. Everything is in a state of change.
That’s the magic of revisions – every cut is necessary, and every cut hurts, but something new always grows.
Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it isn't there. Some of the most wonderful things in the world are invisible. Trusting in invisible things makes them more powerful and wondrous.
